


Let me love you in a way I know

by Asta_ad_astra



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, France (Country), Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, This is really soft and sappy, based on the 5 love languages, unfortunately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23121079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asta_ad_astra/pseuds/Asta_ad_astra
Summary: It was a soft push and pull. It has always been. Crowley moving closer, daringly, and Aziraphale letting him before retreating when everything became overwhelming, but always inviting him back. They were orbiting around each other like twin stars.Like Alpha Centauri.---Based on the 5 love languages
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	Let me love you in a way I know

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started to write this right after my first fic about uhhhh almost 6 months ago. But since uni is a pain in the ass I didn't have that much time to write. I finally managed to get this done and I can finally move on from this. I wanted this to be all about the 5 love languages but instead of being 5 completely separate situations, stories etc. I still wanted this to have some 'narrative flow(?)' and tie in together.  
> Anyway enough rambling. I hope you enjoy these sappy dumbasses and their dumbass antics!

1\. Quality time

On a late Tuesday evening after the Apocalypse-that-fortunately-did-not-happen Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves having a picnic. Yes, _that_ picnic they both had been waiting for since the 1960s, when Aziraphale had given Crowley a holy water filled thermos and a promise. However, this Tuesday evening was luckily – or by some demonic intervention – just perfect for some long-awaited picnicking and stargazing. Not a cloud in the sky and you only needed a light jacket to keep out the cold chill of the night. Or at least two occult beings needed only light jackets.

They were sitting on the tackiest blanket Crowley had ever seen (hint: it was tartan) and looking out to a field, the Bentley behind them quietly playing The Best of Queen. The flowers and every stalk of grass were gently swaying in a soft night breeze. The tall trees surrounding the field hummed in a quiet symphony. The light from a camping lantern enveloped them in a warm circle of light, shadows dancing around them in the tune of their every movement.

Aziraphale was unpacking the wicker basket he had brought with him while prattling about this and that. Crowley watched with curiosity as the angel set some croissants filled with cheese and ham, muffins and a few slices of blueberry pie on paper plates and then neatly set them down on the blanket. He pulled out a thermos of tea – this also had a tartan print – and placed it carefully next to the croissants. Crowley sneakily miracled the tea into wine with a concealed wag of his finger. Aziraphale did notice this but decided not to comment. He only let out a barely noticeable sigh and miracled the wine into a 1947 Cheval Blanc.

After the Apocalypse Aziraphale had started baking. It was a surprisingly efficient stress reliever and gave him other things to think about than the possible revenge of Heaven and Hell over the little stunt he and Crowley pulled. It had started simple: first, it was bunch of burnt meringues, miracled into perfection by the frustrated angel; then simple pastries with slightly raw fillings, and now it was cakes and pies and everything in between baked with precise care. Crowley didn’t even have to pretend they were good anymore – they were now steadily nearing perfection.

Aziraphale dove straight for the slice of blueberry pie while Crowley choose to nibble on a croissant. The angel’s eyes lit in surprised delight as he tasted the first spoonful of the pie. He hummed in appreciation for his handiwork. Crowley watched him from the corner of his eye, amused. “That good, huh?” he asked with a terribly fond tone. “If you keep this up we have to skip the Ritz next week and spend the birthday at yours”

Aziraphale’s delight melted into sheepishness. He laughed nervously. “Ah – well, yes. This turned out to be much better than I expected – not to brag, of course”

“Nothing wrong with being a bit proud of what you’ve created, angel” Crowley said. “At least I was, Before, and that definitely wasn’t the reason I took a deep dive into Hell’s most welcoming pit of sulfur”

Aziraphale looked at him, surprised. Crowley rarely talked about The Fall and had never even mentioned The Before. And Aziraphale had never pushed for which Crowley was grateful. But still, Aziraphale could not help but to be curious.

Aziraphale set his plate down on the blanket and then asked softly: “What did you create?”

Crowley was silent for a while. Aziraphale waited patiently. And he waited some more. He even started to fear Crowley would never answer his question and just pretended he hadn’t heard him. Then, Crowley cleared his throat and set his half-eaten croissant back down to the plate. He took his sunglasses off and threw them on the blanket. Then, he raised his arm while leaning on the other for support and pointed above them, at the shimmering blanket of stars blinking in the calming, inky blackness of the night sky.

“I created a few of those-” A flair of hand and more pointing. Then, a vague wave of his hand. “-and a couple of nebulas and other stuff. I named every one of them.” He added quietly: “They changed the names after I fell, though”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley: at his wistful expression, how his exposed eyes rowed the sky, at his faux relaxed sprawl he used to hide his hurt and melancholy. Aziraphale set himself into a comfortable position, the kind of position that stays comfortable even if you don’t move for hours.

“Tell me more about them”

Crowley let out a surprised noise, eyebrows climbing close to his hairline. Then, slowly, he started to smile. Hesitant at first, but the more it spread, the more warmth flowed through the angel’s heart. Crowley scooted closer towards Aziraphale and pointed towards the sky, directing the angel’s attention where he wanted to. “That one there near the horizon is Altair. It was one of the first stars I made. I actually made the whole Aquila constellation. Gabriel took the credit for that. He was a bloody prick even back then”

Crowley kept pointing, explaining, moving closer and closer, until their shoulders touched. And Aziraphale listened. The demon’s rough voice soothing all the remaining aches the Apocalypse had left behind. He nodded and hummed and asked questions, which Crowley more than happily answered. Occasionally Aziraphale would lean away and sip wine or eat a pastry he made and offer Crowley some.

It was a soft push and pull. It has always been. Crowley moving closer, daringly, and Aziraphale letting him before retreating when everything became overwhelming, but always inviting him back. They were orbiting around each other like twin stars.

Like Alpha Centauri.

Crowley was in the middle of a rant about the obvious superiority of disk galaxies, when Aziraphale was hit with a wave of utter contentment and gratefulness. They both were here. They both, and the world, survived against all odds. The world didn’t end in fire and flame. The War was averted. They were on their own side. They were now watching the stars – Crowley’s stars – and enjoying Aziraphale’s baked goods. The world went on and creation continued.

Aziraphale’s eyes locked with the brightest of the stars, the light almost blinding him with its unique and daring brilliance. His heart happily pattered in his chest, spreading warmth through his ribcage and setting his whole body into a quiet buzz.

And Crowley looked back at him, noticing his stare. The rich gold of his eyes framed the black slits of his pupils, reminding Aziraphale so much of the galaxies Crowley helped to create. Then, Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley smiled back.

And the world went on.

2\. Gifts

After the Apocalypse neither of them didn’t want to take the world and all the wonderful things in it for granted anymore. They savored every drop of wine and bite of food, memorized how the sun painted St. James’ park in golden glow on their strolls, how music and good conversation flowed on their drunken evenings together and – believe or not – kept in touch with their new human acquaintances. So, naturally, they adopted some human traditions on top of the old ones. In this case, birthdays.

It had been Aziraphale’s idea. They had just returned from Adam’s 12th birthday party – which had been such a lovely occasion – when Aziraphale suggested that they should start celebrating their birthdays too. Crowley had been more than skeptical.

“Tell me, angel, why should we celebrate our birthdays? We haven’t before, so why now?” He had frowned and crossed his arms as Aziraphale had fed the ducks of St. James’ park. “And both of us are _literally_ older than time, so technically we can’t even have birthdays”

“Because it would be _nice_ , Crowley. Besides, we can just decide suitable dates for ourselves. I don’t think this is a matter where we need to be that pedantic” Aziraphale had just said in response to Crowley’s usual resistance for everything nice. He had ignored Crowley’s sigh and had thrown his most pleading eyes and batted his eyelashes a few times at him for a good measure.

And Crowley had agreed. He grumbled and pretended to be annoyed by the whole ordeal but agreed to it, nonetheless.

They both had settled for 13th of May, since they were created around the same time and having two separate birthdays would eventually become such a hassle. They both were immortal and thus prone to forgetting too many important dates. Also, Crowley would always get kicks when their birthday would fall on a Friday, which Aziraphale secretly found endearing.

So, on 13th of May, Crowley sped through the streets of London while a blue gift bag swayed in the backseat and next to him an angel held a gift box wrapped in red and gold primly in his hands. They arrived at the Ritz, and as always, a table with a spectacular view had just _miraculously_ become vacant, and the waiter just _insisted_ the most expensive champagne was on the house.

The dinner could only be described as divine – at least in Aziraphale’s opinion. Or as close as earthly things could get to the divine. The scallops made Aziraphale hum in contentment, the lamb with wood roast pepper and basil use the word ‘scrumptious’ at least three times and the mousse with cherry and almond made Aziraphale melt and immediately order a second plate.

Crowley took upon himself to keep the champagne flowing, while Aziraphale rambled on about everything that happened to cross his mind. Mostly it was about books and complaints about his noisy and nosy neighbors, and his upcoming book deals in Manchester and Paris. Occasionally he reminisced the past and Crowley offhandedly corrected him when he misremembered some inane historical facts.

As Aziraphale finished his dessert and reached for his almost empty champagne flute, Crowley nervously cleared his throat. Aziraphale glanced at him curiously before downing the rest of his champagne.

“Uh – So – Hm.” Crowley begun when he lifted the gift bag that had been leaning against his chair and awkwardly thrusted it towards the angel. “Here’s your gift, angel”

Crowley wasn’t much of a gift giver, if he was being honest. He was an overthinker by nature, so buying a gift was like being locked inside one of his personal hells of doubting and anxiety and ‘what if he doesn’t like it’s. But seeing the angel’s blinding smile – which made him more than grateful of the fact that he was wearing his sunglasses – when he pulled out two cookbooks and a variety of brand-new cooking supplies from the bag made all the anxiety worth it.

“Oh! These are lovely!” The corner of the angel’s eyes crinkled when he noticed the tartan print on the supplies. He flipped through one of the cookbooks and stopped on a recipe of baklava. “I’ve always wanted to try making these!”

Aziraphale shifted his attention back to the demon. “Thank you, Crowley.” Aziraphale said softly, voice warm. Crowley coughed and looked away. “Yeah, don’t mention it”

Aziraphale gathered his gifts carefully back into the bag and set it aside. He then set the neatly wrapped gift box on the table and nudged it towards Crowley. Crowley gingerly removed the gift paper and Aziraphale suddenly felt very nervous. He fiddled with his ring and watched intently.

Crowley opened the lid and pulled a mug out of the box. The mug was pitch black and had small red horns on the rim and the handle was a red spiked tail. A perfect opposite to Aziraphale’s own angelic counterpart, but still making them a matching set.

“You know, I wasn’t sure if you would like it – the gift, I mean! I just got this silly thought in my head when I saw it and before I knew it, I had already purchased it. It might not be your style but- “

  
“It’s fine” Crowley croaked. He cleared his throat. “It’s good”

Crowley looked at the mug for a few seconds, thumbing the red horns. His face did something complicated and then he carefully placed it back into the box. “Thank you, Aziraphale” he managed to say and Aziraphale beamed at him, relieved. “You’re welcome, my love”

Aziraphale gestured at the nearby waiter and ordered them more champagne so you really can’t blame him for missing the stunned look on the demon’s face and the slight blush that bloomed on his cheeks after the pet name had slipped from Aziraphale’s lips. He opened and then closed his mouth. He repeated the action, but it didn’t calm the heart beating rabidly in his chest.

Crowley schooled his features back into something less embarrassing and made the blush disappear through sheer willpower – and with the help of a miracle. He watched the waiter top their flutes and then moved his attention back to Aziraphale. The angel looked back at Crowley completely oblivious to his slip up and the effect it had on the demon.

“This has been such a wonderful evening, Crowley” Aziraphale started while Crowley still was trying to mentally reboot himself. “Say, should we adopt this lovely tradition from the humans? I quite enjoyed myself tonight”

There was a pointed silence. Then Crowley let out a heavy sigh. “Yes – okay, fine! It has been _nice_. Don’t look so smug about it or I’m going to change my mind!”

“Me? Smug? Never!” Aziraphale said, voice filled with faux innocence, eyes wide but glinting with mischievousness.

“Ugh! I’m regretting this already” Crowley grumbled as Aziraphale laughed.

After getting himself under control, Aziraphale reached for his champagne flute. Crowley watched him, amused, as he reached for his own. They raised their flutes, both smiling openly, eyes soft.

“Happy birthday, Crowley”

“Happy birthday, angel”

3\. Acts of service (devotion)

It had started slowly, like all things tended to when there were immortal beings involved. Like honey falling from a spoon, he was gradually moved into action just to see a sweet smile blooming on Aziraphale’s face that – more often than not – made him give into whatever the angel asked of him. Not that he ever admitted it aloud.

It had started like this: an angel nervously admitting to giving his sword away to those new, dreadfully fragile, creations of Hers. The angel had tried to evade his curious gaze while mumbling the confession. He had then tried to cover his nervousness and anxiety with an awkward smile.

It had not worked.

After leaving Eden Crowley had actively sought him out, feeling a strange pull to this quietly rebellious creature.

It was approximately two thousand years later – when they had slowly built a shaky friendship – over wine and oysters when a feeling hit him. It had washed over him as soft as a stream that was waking in the spring. It crept through the sun warmed cracks in the ice making it brittle while the stream slowly grew stronger.

Surprisingly, he did not fight it: he let himself to be carried away, floating in the stream further and further towards a point of no return. Instead, he ordered more oysters for Aziraphale and topped their cups. In the evening he strolled leisurely with the angel through the quieting streets of Rome. When the night arrived, he bid him goodbye.

Crowley waited for the stream to dry and the new feelings to be buried over time.

It did not happen.

Instead, the stream continued its steady flow. However, sometimes it tended to overflow as making a play to be ridiculously successful or saving the angel from discorporation. Other times as miracling paint away from Aziraphale’s favourite coat and as stopping the Apocalypse even though he had lost all hope of surviving.

And as time passed, the stream grew stronger. He started to do things for the angel even without asking. Without Aziraphale giving him pointed looks or obvious hints he saved some books riddled with fake prophecies from burning to dust and offered to run away to the stars. He offered a place to stay when his bookshop had burned and fooled Heaven and Hell with a simple body swap.

So, it’s completely understandable why Crowley found himself stuck in the traffic. In France. At this point he was going to miss his ferry. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and sighed in frustration. He glanced at the rearview mirror at the package at the backseat.

A week ago, Aziraphale had mentioned a deal with some bookseller about a book he had tried to acquire into his collection for years. Unfortunately, he had accidentally double booked another deal on that same day. The angel was currently in Manchester sealing the deal on a very early collection of copies of Sappho’s poems. Aziraphale already had some of the originals, but wanted to complete his collection with copies, since so many of her poems were permanently lost.

The thing is that after being in love with someone for thousands of years you really hate even the idea of that person being unhappy. When the angel had wrung his hands and frowned after announcing his departure for Manchester, Crowley was already mentally halfway across the canal. So here he was, a six-thousand-year-old demon, sitting in a car with French Winnie the Pooh mint condition first editions that he had bought from a book seller who had clearly overpriced him. He had no idea why Aziraphale wanted to have French copies in the first place, when

  1. His French was terrible.
  2. He already had all the English copies.



However, Crowley was so used to the angel’s eccentricities that he just rolled with it.

The cars moved at a snail’s pace and after half an hour he still wasn’t anywhere near the harbor. Crowley sighed in frustration and cursed every single car around him individually. Just as he was seriously getting into it and was on a good insulting roll, his phone rang. He snatched the phone from the passenger seat and answered.

“Hello?”  
  


Hearing Aziraphale’s voice improved his mood somewhat and he slumped a little on his seat, tension leaving his body. He let his lips rise from a scowl to a barely noticeable smile.

“Hey, angel. You’re calling early. Already finished the book deal?”

Aziraphale let out a delighted sound. “Yes, it went as expected! I got both copies for the price of one! I must admit though that I might have had to use some – ah – divine intervention, but in my defense, he was going to overprice me!”

Crowley let out a laugh. “Why didn’t you just miracle more money? It’s not like you have actually cared about prices before” He was always proud of every little act of bastardy of Aziraphale’s but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tease him.

Aziraphale huffed, annoyed. “I have my reasons, Crowley”

The line was quiet for a while. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “You know, I actually have something to tell you, which is why I called. I’ve been meaning to talk about it with you for a long time now, but it never seemed to be a right moment.” Aziraphale chuckled. “What I mean to say is – can you come over to the bookshop in the evening?”

Fuck. Fucking fuck of a fuck. This was really happening. And he was stuck in traffic. In France.

Crowley wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what the angel wanted to talk about. The year and a half after the apocalypse they both had been dancing around the inevitable, sending each other small signs and letting their affection for each other bleed fully into their behavior. No more pretending to be on separate sides, just them figuring things on their own time – on their own side.

But there only was a small problem. The problem had a form of a traffic. In France.

“Uh – I don’t think I can make it”

“What? Why?” came an immediate, and confused and slightly hurt, answer.

“There’s some… hmm…complications”

  
“What complications? Where are you?” Aziraphale asked.

“In Paris”

The silence was deafening. Crowley could hear the angel’s brain working all way across the canal.

“….You didn’t”

“Mmmhm. Yup”

“Crowley! You didn’t!”

“Yeah yeah, don’t mention it.” Crowley rolled his eyes, even though there wasn’t anyone to see them and huff in annoyance. He wished he could see the angel right now. His surprised expression morphing into delight and his _wiggling_.

“I-“ Aziraphale started but interrupted himself. “Well I suppose I’ll see you when you get back?”

“Yeah. Things to talk and all that” Crowley said.

“Yes – well – do call me when you’re back in England, my dear”

  
“I will”

  
Crowley hung up and tossed his phone back to the passenger seat. He looked around him, at the sea of cars surrounding him. He gripped the steering wheel tight with his one hand and raised another. It was time to do some demonic miracles. He had an angel waiting for him, after all.

He huffed a small laugh. He wasn’t the one waiting anymore.

4\. Touch

Aziraphale huffed and closed the book he was reading and set it on the small coffee table next to him. He rose from the armchair he was sitting on and started pacing. He glanced out of the window to the busy streets outside the comfort of his shop, looking for a fast blur of a speeding Bentley.

Nothing. No sight of Crowley and no sound of Queen blaring through the car’s speakers.

Aziraphale sighed and continued his pacing, wringing his hands and fiddling with his ring. He tried to sit down and continue reading, but as he was setting comfortably and opening his book, a wave of nervousness splashed over him like a tsunami.

He sprung up like a spring when the doorbell jingled, and he heard hurried, heavy steps. Aziraphale hurried towards the sound and smiled widely when he saw Crowley. The demon was slightly disheveled and carrying a small package. His breathing was also slightly labored even though he tried to hide it. He set the package on a nearby table and then turned towards the angel.

Crowley opened his mouth but before he could say something Aziraphale was already hugging him. Crowley spluttered and his hands flailed at his sides until he hesitantly – and very, very gently – put them around the angel.

Aziraphale sighed in contentment and Crowley relaxed in his hold. The angel redacted himself – reluctantly – from the demon and smiled warmly. “Welcome back, Crowley”

“Y-yeah. Nice seeing you too” Crowley said awkwardly while he certainly desperately pretended that he wasn’t feeling flustered and surprised.

Aziraphale was now holding his hand and he couldn’t for the life of him make up something cool and detached to say. He just made faces that he hoped didn’t make him look like an idiot. Aziraphale just kept smiling at him. Eventually the angel said: “What if I made some tea and then we could sit down and have a chat about – hmm – we could just have a chat”

Crowley just nodded and just like that he was led into the back of the shop and two cups of tea had manifested themselves into a coffee table between them. Aziraphale made himself comfortable on the armchair opposite of Crowley. He looked at Crowley expectantly.

“So, you went to France?”

Crowley realized couldn’t do this after all. He wasn’t going to drink tea from Aziraphale’s cute little teacups and calmly talk about his feelings in a roundabout way so he wouldn’t overwhelm either of them. “Fuck this” he mumled, rose abruptly and strode over to the angel. He yanked the angel forwards from his lapels and pressed his lips on his.

Their teeth clacked together. Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and his hands were clutching Crowley’s arms. Crowley pulled back and now he was looking at Aziraphale expectantly, sunglasses slightly askew. “Are we good now?” he asked.

“Are we -? Are we good?” Aziraphale asked, voice getting higher from exasperation. “No! You can’t just -!”

He sighed. Then, he laughed a bit. “I carefully planned how this would go but I should’ve known that nothing exactly goes according to plan with you” He moved his hands up and down Crowley’s arms. “But I guess you have the right idea. I think we can talk later”

He then pulled Crowley back down for a kiss. And for another. And for a few more.

They only got the chance to talk in the morning after.

Neither of them minded, really.

5\. Words

After that it was like the 6000 years old gap hadn’t been between them at all. Instead of glances full of longing, there was now overflowing affection. Where there had been halted hands desperate to hold, there was now kiss here, and a kiss there, and more here.

Aziraphale would surprise Crowley by sudden “You look absolutely radiant, my dear” whenever he could get away with it. Which, naturally, was always.

In the dark, when there were no prying eyes and just the two of them, Crowley would mutter sweetness against Aziraphale’s neck and play with the short curls in the angel’s nape. Aziraphale would hum and tighten his hold.

There was now “Stay safe, angel” and “I missed you, dear”.

There also was “What are you baking? That smells divi- good. It smells good” and some of ”You’re really getting good at this. When are you making blueberry pie again? I’m having some serious cravings”

But what you could hear most of all, whether they were strolling through the park, in the theater, at their cottage, was a simple:

“I love you” and “I love you too”

**Author's Note:**

> Some disclaimers in the end:  
> 1\. I'm not a native English speaker so I'm sorry if there was any grammar errors that made you cringe lol  
> 2\. I don't know jack shit about England's weather or England in general and I like to keep that info at minimum and you can probably tell nasifdodfjosfo  
> 3\. I can't cope with the fact that acts of service is also called devotion.... My man Anthony devotion Crowley..... poetic cinema....
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and if you did please leave kudos or let me know what you thought! Hope you're having a nice day cheers


End file.
